Loading...Working the night shift at a convenience store can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, especially when I get those guys showing up one minute after midnight, telling me their watches say it’s 11:58 and they want their fucking beer. Or the welfare breeder chicks with their four kids by different fathers who get their brats to buy ten-cent gumballs with a dollar food stamp, then use the change to buy cheap beer.
Yeah, I see all kinds. The rich assholes with their Mercedes who want the professional car wash – “and you better not scratch the paint!” – the hot little party girls in their barely-there minis buying breath mints and wine coolers, the shy young girls nervously asking for a package of condoms. I like messing with those, making them show me their identification. Yep, Angela Bates, turned eighteen just three days before . . . damn . . . not that you need ID to buy condoms, but a lot of them didn’t know that.
One night, a week ago, this one hot little Latina chick came in, all attitude and West Coast style. Tight low-riders that would have popped off her ass if she bent over, and a backless halter that showed off her flat stomach and navel ring. She had naturally dusky skin, and her hair had that glossy wet look, brushed back and hanging all the way to her ass in thick shiny tendrils. She looked to be all of five-foot-three and had a narrow, tight little body. Not much upstairs, but damn did she have a nice little ass.
It was about ten p.m. on a Tuesday, and there was no one else in the store at the moment. The girl gave me a bold look from beneath her thick lashes and silver eye shadow as she set down an eighteen-pack of beer on the counter. “And a pack of Lights,” she said with just a touch of impatience.
I smirked, looking her over. I knew her game; show enough attitude, make me think she’s twenty-one . . . .
“Can I see some ID?” I asked.
The girl huffed, rolling her eyes. “I left it in the car, okay? I’m old enough, dude.”
I shrugged. “Go get it,” I said, drumming my fingers on the case of beer. “I’ll wait.”
She huffed and crossed her arms. “I come in here all the time,” she said indignantly. “Jesus! Just ring it up, okay?”
I was beginning to enjoy myself, especially since I noticed how pert her firm tits were. Her V-cut top was showing a fair amount of cleavage. Hmm, A-cups . . . “Not without ID,” I said.
The girl sighed heavily. “Look, you really think I’d just come in here and grab a case of beer if I wasn’t old enough? You think I’m that fucking stupid?”
I chuckled. “Stupid? No. Bold . . . definitely,” I said. I started to drag the beer toward me. “No ID, no beer.”
She stared at me a moment, working her jaw. I could tell she’d already had a few and was borderline ready to give me some typical trashy, self-righteous, self-important tirade about how I was only giving her shit about her age because she was Hispanic and I’m white, and yada, yada, yada . . . .
“What’s your name?” she asked belligerently, gesturing with her hands and swiveling her head in that particular way. “No, what’s your fucking manager’s name? Bet he wouldn’t like to hear that you refused service to a Latina. I know a lot of people who shop here, and I can get them to fucking . . . fucking blackout this place—”
I gave the girl an amused look. “You mean, ‘boycot?'” I asked.
The girl folded her arms, gave me an exasperated look. “Whatever, wedo,” she said bitingly.
I stared at her a moment, feeling my ire rise before I forced it down. I really hated girls with attitude. I decided to give a little of it back. “
I took the case of beer from the counter and set it behind me on a low shelf. When I looked back, the girl glared at me, livid. Then she gave me the usual, rapid-fire Spanish diatribe of insults, jabbing at me with a finger, before storming out. Damn, she even looked hot when she was angry. I chuckled at her barrage, watching her tight little ass as she shoved open the door, bitching and yelling all the way out to her car.
***
It started to rain about fifteen minutes later, a serious downpour. Until it let up, I knew the store would be pretty dead. So I did some light cleaning, sent Mike, my employee, home for the night. I got a couple of customers during that time, but they paid at the pump with their credit cards and didn’t come in.
Then, half an hour after she left, the self-important loco bitch returned. She strutted in through the doors with pompous arrogance, her top slightly wet and revealing the outlines of her stiff nipples. She wiped some raindrops from her face and slapped down a driver’s license. “There you go, Mr. Manager,” she said haughtily, crossing her arms and cocking her head.
I chuckled inwardly, taking up the license. Alma Salinas . . . hmm . . . “Wow,” I said. “You look really good for thirty-three.”
She gave me an acidic look. “Thanks,” she said. “You happy now? Now give me my fucking beer.”
I laughed and set the ID card back on the counter, pushing it toward her. “I don’t think so,” I said.
She gave me an insulted look. “What? I fucking got ID, you mother fucker!”
“And I’m still not selling to you,” I said.
The girl huffed, grinding her teeth, not looking at me. Finally, she fixed me with another of her bold looks that was supposed to be intimidating, but came out as ridiculous. “What do you want?” she asked. “Huh? What, you wanna see my tits?”
She jerked up her shirt, showing me a pair of very nicely-formed naked breasts, capped with stiff, dark pink nipples. Her skin tone was uniform, making her cleavage almost golden.
I stared a moment until she dropped her shirt. “Very nice,” I said. “But, no.”
The girl sighed heavily in exasperation again. “Look, I ain’t walking out of here without my beer, Chris,” she said. “So what’s it gonna take? Wanna see my snatch? Want me to fucking drop my pants right here?”
I laughed, then decided to match her trashy boldness. “Tell you what,” I said flippantly. “There’s a little space under the counter, here. You get underneath, give me a blow job, and I’ll sell you the beer.”
I had expected the indignant girl to get so shocked that she would run out of the store and never come back. But instead, she just stared at me, her expression blank, studying my face.
“You promise?” she asked.
I gave her an interested look as my cock came alive in my jeans. Oh, so she’s willing to play, huh? “Cross my heart,” I said, my dick beginning to grow.
The girl looked around, satisfying herself that the store was empty. She met my eyes again. “Okay, but you better not blow in my mouth,” she said.
I stared back. “No point to a blow job if you don’t go all the way,” I said. “No swallow, no beer.”
The girl looked disgusted. “Yo, dude, I don’t fucking swallow for no man,” she declared. “Not even my boyfriend. And I sure as fuck—”
“You want the beer or not?”
She stopped, staring at me. Her eyes narrowed. “You fucking asshole,” she said.
I chuckled. “Yup, that’s me. An asshole who wants his dick sucked. You do it, and do it all the way, and you get your beer. You spit, and you get shit.”
The girl glared a few moments longer, fuming quietly. She looked down at the floor, working her jaw. I was patient, my cock getting stiffer and stiffer in my jeans as I anticipated the feel of those glossy, soft lips wrapped around my tool, sucking and pulling and working for my load . . . .
Finally, she looked back. “All right,” she said. “But if I’m paying with my fucking mouth, I ain’t giving you no fucking dollars. Deal?”
I licked my lips, looking her over. “Do it topless and we got a deal,” I said.
The girl rolled her eyes. “Deal.”
I chuckled, scarcely believing my luck. The girl came around the edge of the counter, and I lead her to the little cubbyhole beneath the first register. She eyed it speculatively, then figured she could fit in the space. With a heavy sigh, she pulled off her top, her firm tits jiggling only slightly. Then she got on her knees and crawled under the register, turned to face me.
“Okay, come on, let’s do it,” she said impatiently.
I stepped up before the register, my crotch level with her face. “Do the honors,” I said, then smirked down at her. “Have fun.”
The girl looked annoyed, but she nevertheless pulled down my zipper. Her fingers dug around in my jeans, finding my hard cock, engorged to its full eight thick inches. With a grunt, she hauled it out.
“Madre de Dios,” she exclaimed softly.
I chuckled, reached under the counter and pulled her head toward my groin. I got that reaction a lot. Not only is my dick longer than average, but it’s damn thick. “Open wide, baby,” I said.
“Oh, fuck,” she whispered, then fluttered her wet lips along the head of my cock before sliding them down around my stiff shaft.
I moaned at the heat and wet sucking feel of her mouth. Maybe this chick didn’t enjoy sucking cock, but she was pretty damn good at it. She smacked her lips around my shaft, delving down about halfway, swirling and massaging with her tongue. I sighed in pleasure, rolling my hips slightly. The girl grunted softly, pulled back whenever I gave her more than half my length. But her mouth never left my dick.
The rain let up and customers came into the store. As the girl sucked my cock under the counter, her actions hidden from their view, I rang the customers up and gave them receipts, wishing them a nice night. One of the regulars came in, a middle-aged biker named Bob, and he leaned against the counter, bullshitting with me as my little Latina cocksucker worked on my rod.
I don’t think anything turned me on more than getting a hummer while unsuspecting customers lined up at the counter. I wondered if any of them heard the faint little slurps and sighs my witless cocksucker made.
The girl sucked and pulled, stroked and squeezed my dick with her mouth and hands, obviously wanting to get me off and get the blow job over with. But the distractions of my customers kept me from cumming even as I savored every little lick and suck and tug she made on my cock. Now and then, when no one was looking, I leaned back from the counter and watched the girl’s soft lips gliding back and forth on my rod, keeping it wet. She kept her eyes closed most of the time as she serviced me.
Finally, a good half-hour later, after Bob left, I reached under the counter and grabbed the girl’s head around her ears. I seriously pumped her hot sucking mouth, making her moan and whimper and grunt in surprise. I fucked her face hard and fast, panting, gasping, using the little slut the way she deserved to be used . . . .
“Oh-h-h-h, fuck!” I cried out, my body shaking and tingling with that wonderful orgasmic rush. I held the girl’s head in place as my dick surged and swelled and pumped thick gushers of sperm between her lips. She emitted muffled disagreeable sounds as she tasted my seed, as her mouth was filled with spunk. Her hands slapped to my thighs and she tried to pull back, but I held her close, emptying my balls within her oral cave.
“Oh, yeah!” I grunted, staring down at her face in bliss. “Suck it all out! Eat my cum, girl! Swallow that fucking juice!”
The girl shook, her lips loosening around my dick, sperm leaking out from her mouth and dripping from her lips and my cock to the floor. She had a disgusted look on her face. She clearly did not enjoy the taste of cum. That just made the whole experience more intense.
I stared into her dark eyes as they flashed open, looking up to me angrily. Her nostrils flared as she breathed in and out. She looked like she was on the verge of throwing up.
“Swallow it, puta,” I snarled. “You can kill the aftertaste with beer.”
The girl gurgled something, cum bubbles forming around her semen-slicked lips. She glared back, then eased her mouth back until her frothy lips were just at the tip of my dick, and swallowed quickly. Her face contorted, and she gagged and coughed around my cock. I groaned, and pushed back into her mouth, giving her every last little ooze and dribble of cum my balls had to give.
“Clean it up,” I said. “Lick it clean.” And, suddenly obedient, she sucked out every last bit of my juice and swallowed once again.
Customers began coming into the store, and I wondered if any of them had seen anything. No one could have seen my cocksucker, of course, but they could have noticed me looking down and talking to someone beneath the register. Anyone with half a brain could have deduced what was going on.
I kept my cock in the girl’s mouth, making her suck me beyond my orgasm, as a short line of customers formed before the counter, some giving me strange and curious looks. I took their money with a satisfied smile, ringing up their purchases as the girl on her knees softly licked and sucked my spent penis.
Finally, the store emptied out once again, and I stepped back, looking down at her. She stared back with a slightly uncomfortable expression, her sperm-glossed lips shiny and quivering. She was less angry now, looking more humiliated than anything else. Trickles of glistening semen had run from the corners of her mouth to her chin. A couple of droplets had fallen to her little tits.
I chuckled and tucked my spent dick away. The girl got up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She gave me a spiteful look, smacking her lips, clearly disgusted with the flavor of sperm that yet lingered in her mouth.
Without a word, she headed back around the counter, making a bee-line to the beer coolers. She grabbed an eighteen-pack, then lugged it toward the door.
“What’s your name?” I called.
She paused just as she reached the door. She glanced over her shoulder. Her chin was still a little shiny with cum. “Jennifer,” she said.
I held up a pack of cigarettes with a smile. “You forgot your smokes,” I said.
Jennifer sighed, then trudged back to the counter, fixing me a look as she snatched up her cigarettes. Her lips curled slightly. “Thanks,” she said.
“Anytime,” I said meaningfully.
She glanced briefly to my crotch. “Maybe I’ll be back,” she said coyly, then turned and headed out. She passed a couple of young toughs on her way to her car, and they gave her double-takes upon seeing her wet chin.
I chuckled, told myself I would have to make sure to pop the security tape before I went home. No sense letting the home office know about my little bit of fun.
I watched Jennifer get in her car. Hmm . . . maybe you can earn more than a case of beer next time . . . .